


On The Way To Heaven

by Seraphique



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 10:14:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18281027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seraphique/pseuds/Seraphique
Summary: Maybe that’s why Ronan loved this.Adam, below him, his cheeks flushed pink under a smattering of freckles, his hesitancy melting away like snow in the spring.Who would’ve thought that Adam Parrish, with his pride, his fear, his stubbornness, would be likethis?





	On The Way To Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> wowieee this is my first work in this fandom so please don't kill me

In a certain timeline, from a certain perspective, it could be said that their story began with Robert Parrish.

Not in a beautiful, poetic way, but in a way that left ugly marks on a young boy; in a way that made that boy question every kindness his life had ever known.

When Ronan Lynch thinks of Robert Parrish, he thinks of a courtroom. He thinks of a small apartment, a place of worship above a place of worship. Of the bright sear of rage that overtook him when he got out of the BMW and promptly planted his fist into Robert Parrish’s face. He thinks of the permanent damage: a deaf ear, a boy’s hesitancy to goodness.

Maybe that’s why Ronan loved this.

Adam, below him, his cheeks flushed pink under a smattering of freckles, his hesitancy melting away like snow in the spring.

Who would’ve thought that Adam Parrish, with his pride, his fear, his stubbornness, would be like _this_?

“Sweetheart,” Ronan says, his fingers moving inside Adam. Adam turns his head and presses his bad ear into one of the plush pillows on Ronan’s bed at the Barns, another dream-thing, a pillow where both sides are always cold.

A memory hits him, then: Adam’s first night staying in Ronan’s room at the Barns, a laptop playing a nature documentary at the foot of his bed. For the first time since Niall Lynch was murdered, Ronan felt not just happy, but truly content at his childhood home. Adam had shut the laptop with a smile on his face. _If I have to hear one more thing about forests in the next decade, it’ll be too soon._ His lips had found Ronan’s, and, well, that was that.   

Ronan knows he can get Adam off, just like this: pressing fingers, a palm resting above the dip of his left hipbone. He’s done it before, Adam shifting upwards against his hand, trembling through his release. But Ronan wants it to last, so he moves slowly, like they’ve got all the time in the world.

It was truly a fucking miracle that after the Henrietta dust settled, they found themselves here. Ronan Lynch, who could create nearly anything he wanted with a single dream; Adam Parrish, who could not, and would not, for his satisfaction laid in the work it took to get there.

But Ronan did not create this in his dreams, and that makes it all the more sweet when Adam lets out a soft sound. His soft lips are bitten rose red.

“You look so fuckin’ good like this,” Ronan says. And he really does. The beginnings of sweat forming on the tan of his skin, the muscles of his arms moving as he grips the comforter. And oh, his grip. Ronan is not his father, he is not half the poet that Niall Lynch was, but he could wax poetic about Adam Parrish’s hands until the end of time. “You look like a dream.”

The wet slick of his fingers stretching Adam is driving him fucking insane. Adam is blood hot, and the pretty flush has crept down to his chest. Ronan’s distantly aware of himself, hard, in the tight confines of his black jeans, second to the pleasure he’s creating. At the end of the day, that’s what Ronan is best at: creating.

“I want to be inside of you,” Ronan says, without preamble. They haven’t done this yet, but Ronan hardly has control of his mouth when they’re like this. He feels hot, feverous, words pouring from him like water to a glass. Adam’s eyes go wide and for a moment, Ronan loses his surety, afraid he’s finally pushed too far, too hard.

But then, Adam says, “Oh my god, Ronan. Please,” His accent lilting his words slightly. Ronan’s skin hardly feels like it can contain him. A god in his own right, people tell him, brought to his knees by the possibility presented before him. He can’t help but lean forward and press his lips to Adam’s for a heated moment.   

“Yeah, baby? You’d like that?” Ronan asks, leaning back. Adam is practically squirming below him, now. He presses his lips together, revealing the dimple on his cheek, and Ronan is fucking doomed. “Tell me.” Adam flushes deeper. Shy in his feelings, even now.

“Tell me, and I’ll give it to you,” Ronan would give it to him, anyway. Ronan would give him anything, everything. Adam’s breathing has quickened, and he lets out a quiet moan when Ronan moves his fingers particularly well. “I’ll give it to you so fucking good, Adam.”

“Fucking _filthy_ ,” Adam responds. Ronan moves his unoccupied hand to Adam’s throat. Not to hurt him, of course. Almost to remind him that though every hand can hurt, not every one will. Adam deserves everything good that has ever happened to him; he deserves even better. Ronan puts all of his focus into making Adam feel good, curling his fingers just right inside of him.

“Please, Ronan, I want it.” Adam’s voice is breathy, sweet. He’s probably getting close. “Would you have me beg?”

And no, no he wouldn’t.

Ronan removes his fingers to take off his jeans swiftly, moving himself further up between Adam’s legs. Though it’s entirely unnecessary, he jerks himself a few times, watching the rise and fall of Adam’s chest. When he flicks his eyes to Adam’s, Adam’s eyes are fixated to where Ronan’s hand is moving. His blue eyes are distant, pupils wide, like when he’s working as the Magician. It feels like they are moving to a pivot point; like there is a before, and there is an after, and they are teetering on an edge.

“Adam?” He asks. “Angel, you okay?”

Adam’s eyes move to his, a little more focused, more emotion on his strange, beautiful face than Ronan has ever seen. Ronan’s breath catches in his throat.

“I love you,” Adam says. He states it simply, confidently.

And to keep the tears from falling from his eyes, Ronan occupies his hands with Adam’s skin. He feels full of light, like it must be escaping from his mouth, from his very pores.

At last, one hand in Adam’s, and the other guiding himself, he pushes inside.

“I love you, too,” Ronan says as he starts a slow pace. Torturous, gentle. “But you knew that, didn’t you?” Adam lets out soft, punched-out sounds with every thrust. Now that he’s started, he can’t stop. “When I paid your balance at St. Agnes,” he gives another slow roll of his hips. “When I—” Another. “Fucking, _manibus._ ” Adam drags his fingernails down his back, and a shiver rolls through Ronan.

Ronan holds himself up with his right arm, moving his left between the bed and the small of Adam’s back. He lifts it, just a little, shifting the angle. Adam cries out, then, and Ronan can hardly take it. He leans down to kiss him; an assembly of hips and mouths nothing short of magical. The Greywaren, the Magician.

He promised a good fuck, so he moves them to where Adam is practically in his lap, but he still has leverage to thrust into him. Adam seems to like this, his body rocking down in time with Ronan’s.  

“Fuck, oh my god,” Adam’s eyes flutter closed as he speaks. Ronan resists the urge to kiss the space where his pale eyelashes brush his cheeks. Adam is pliant like this, sweeter than sugar. “Please, Ronan, don’t stop,” he ends up begging anyways, senselessly. Ronan would fuck him like this, forever; fuck him until Gansey showed up at the Barns, wondering what kind of situation they’d gotten into this time.   

It’s so fucking hot, _Adam_ is so fucking hot, Ronan can’t help but get close, reaching around him with a hand, feeling where his dick is sliding into Adam, slick. It’s enough to make his brain short circuit.

Somehow, through the storm in his head, Ronan manages to ask, “I wonder if I could fit some fingers in here, too?”  

Adam tenses and comes, blessedly untouched. And god damn if that doesn’t make Ronan follow suit.

Ronan lets the afterglow wash over him, his heart still racing where Adam’s palm rests on his chest. 

“Shit, Parrish. If all it took was a little sweet talking, I’ve been missing out.”

Adam smiles and shoves him back playfully.

“Shut up, Ronan.”

**Author's Note:**

> you can follow me on tumblr [here](http://drtyhands.tumblr.com/) if you'd like


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